


Woven

by asilentherald



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentherald/pseuds/asilentherald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a balance to maintain, and some things, even those dictated by fate and destiny, disrupt it and cause all sorts of havoc and pain. Someone must pay the price for the return of the Once and Future King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woven

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I felt like writing something for the anniversary, and this is what happened.
> 
> Thanks to M for looking this over!

It seems so simple, after it’s all over.  There is a price, and they’re both paying it.

\---

He doesn’t want to forget the sensation of rising out of the waters of Avalon and taking a proper breath of air. All those years, he never even realized what had happened. Death had been a merciful blanket, warm and kind, with a sad smile and soft dark hair. He was the last thing Arthur saw, and so his image consumed his time away from the living. Merlin was all he remembered until he breathed air and all the memories rushed back in a suffocating deluge. He sputtered and fell to his knees on the shore, not from the seaweed wrapped around his neck but from the horror of what exactly had transpired in those last few days.

Then a lorry rushed by, and Arthur promptly jumped out of his skin. He coughed and trudged up to the road. There was a man walking in his direction, but he was far away, still around the bend. Arthur watched him pause, look out at the lake, and sigh. The way his body hunched and crumbled so visibly, it troubled Arthur. He looked ready to fall apart and Arthur, in a moment of madness, started for him, prepared to catch every piece and put him back together. The draw was magnetic, and the moment the old man looked up from the gravel under his boots, Arthur knew exactly why. 

He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t want to be wrong. How could he be right? Clearly more than a man’s lifetime had passed since his death, so Merlin—

Merlin had to be dead. There was no other explanation. But the man’s eyes were so much like those of his Death, the eyes that watched him quietly all that time from just beyond the water’s surface – Arthur couldn’t let it go.

But the man frowned, eyes going a little unfocused, and he pushed past Arthur, his shoulder knocking roughly against his armor.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Arthur demanded before he could stop himself. His voice came out harsh and low. The man stopped, shoulders tense. Arthur ventured a few more steps forward. “Merlin. Please. Don’t go.”

“You’re not really here,” he said quietly, not turning to him. “You’re not.”

“I am. I just came out of the bloody lake not ten minutes ago!”

“Right.”

He started to walk, so Arthur followed him all the way into a village. He did his best to stay out of the way of the large metal boxes on wheels as Merlin wove through the streets. Arthur ignored all the odd buildings—not a single parapet or defensible wall in sight, he thought sadly—and followed Merlin into an entrance hall of sorts. He fumbled with a key, his hands shaking before the lock. Arthur stepped in and took the key from his hands.

“We’ll freeze by the time you get it open,” Arthur said.

Merlin looked at him then, truly, for the first time, and looked rather terrified. Arthur unlocked the door and walked into the room. The walls were tired and peeling, and the furniture was sparse. Arthur sat down on the couch in the middle of the room and stared at the small dark box on the table by the fireplace.

“Arthur?”

He turned sharply. The old man was gone, replaced by the very same man who’d held him as Mordred’s blade finally stopped Arthur’s heart.

It felt like it was stopping all over again.

Merlin dropped his heavy coat on the floor and padded silently across the room to him. He sat on the other end of the couch, perched on the edge of the cushion. He wrung his hands, glancing between Arthur and the floor and his lap.

“Merlin. Stop,” Arthur said, putting a hand on his jiggling knee. Merlin froze. His hands fell apart and covered his own.

“You’re real,” he frowned.

“Of course I am.”

“You don’t know how many times you haven’t been real,” Merlin scowled. The darkness of the room filled the spaces around his eyes, under his cheekbones.

“You look the same,” Arthur said.

“So do you.”

“Well, I was—”

“Don’t say it. Please don’t,” he cut in. Merlin sighed deeply, the sound great and tremulous, like a summer storm winding down.

“Are you hungry?” Merlin asked.

Arthur blinked. “Food? Really, Merlin? I’m here, and you—”

“We’re eating, then,” Merlin declared. He stood up, leaving Arthur’s hands to fall onto the rough couch cushion, the shape of his hand still molded between his palms.

Their dinner wasn’t anything special. Arthur peered into the cabinets while Merlin cooked something on a tiny fire on a metal table. It tasted good, though. Arthur sat back after a while and felt totally satisfied, his mouth abuzz with pleasant sensations and unfamiliar tastes. Merlin didn’t look up from his plate at him once during the meal, but the moment he set his fork aside, he stopped and stared for a long while.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s _something_ , Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” Merlin said, standing. “Let’s get you changed.”

“I don’t have other clothes,” Arthur said stupidly.

“You can borrow some of mine,” Merlin said.

“Some of yours? That didn’t work out so well last time, did it?” Arthur said with a grin. Merlin, however, didn’t find it so amusing.

“Fine. Sleep in your armor, for all I care,” he said, scowling. Without another word, Merlin dropped their dirty plates in the water basin and disappeared down an unlit hallway beyond the kitchen. A door slammed shut, rattling the floor under Arthur’s feet.

For a long time, he sat at the table, staring at the hallway. Eventually, Arthur got up. Merlin couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

“Merlin,” he said, knocking on the door. He wanted to march right in and demand something other than the reaction he’d received, but Arthur knew better than that – something was wrong. “Come on, Merlin. Stop being such a girl.”

Okay, well, he couldn’t stop himself entirely.

Arthur waited, but he heard no movement at all. He didn’t even see a light under the door. His body was tired, though, and he was leaning heavily against the wall for support. He retreated to the living area and reclined on the narrow couch. Arthur fell asleep almost immediately, and it was the most restful night of his life.

He woke to the sound of the front door shutting. Arthur sat up abruptly and looked around. Light streamed from the window over the kitchen water basin, making the whole room look less shabby. It was at least midday.

“Merlin?” Arthur called out. He eased himself off the couch. On the kitchen table were a pile of clothes and a note.

_Don’t leave._

_-M_

Arthur rolled his eyes and took the clothes to the bathroom he’d seen across the hall from Merlin’s room. Everything was very strange, and it took a while for Arthur to work out how to use the toilet, but he wasn’t stupid. It made sense, once he thought a bit about it. The basin he worked out, too, but the strange cubicle in the corner of the small bathroom was too big a mystery for him to work out on his own.

The trousers were stiff and dark blue, the shirt soft and red. It was a nice change from the armor and his clothes from Camlann, which were still stained with his blood as though it had only just dried. Arthur touched the holes in his mail, then lifted his shirt and looked in the mirror. The scar was obvious, ugly and loud compared to the rest of his skin. He could feel the little stitches of skin knotted together under his fingers when he touched it.

Arthur’s stomach growled noisily. He left his old clothes on the couch and raided the cabinets, only to find nothing more than yesterday. He sat down at the table and held Merlin’s note in his hand.

The next thing Arthur knew, the door slamming shut woke him up for the second time that day. He sat up and looked around. For a moment he was confused again, but then he saw Merlin, hovering by the entrance, staring. Arthur wiped a bit of drool off his chin and hastily dried the table where he’d fallen asleep. He stood up quickly.

“Merlin,” he said with a formal nod.

Arthur didn’t get the chance to make any observations about his appearance or reactions – he couldn’t plan out what to do next, he couldn’t strategize at all – because Merlin let out a strangled noise and threw himself bodily at Arthur. He buried his face in his neck, his skin wet and his breath warm and ragged. Arthur carefully steadied him with an arm around his waist, his other hand rubbing Merlin’s back. They’d touched sometimes back in Camelot, a slap or a grateful shoulder grab every now and then, but this was different. This was like Death all over again. Merlin’s hands scrunched up his shirt and he sobbed.

Before Arthur could do anything about it, he was crying, too. Seeing Merlin upset did that to him, just like – just like when Merlin had revealed his magic to him, and he’d been so distraught and afraid because of what _he_ would do. Somehow Arthur had forgotten all about the magic.

Suddenly Merlin sprang back, as though Arthur’s hand on his back were suddenly covered in hot coals. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, his hand shaking.

“I’m—”

Arthur grabbed him by the arm and dragged him through the flat, ignoring Merlin’s squawking. He shouldered Merlin’s bedroom door open while Merlin shouted in protest.

“No, Merlin. You’re upset, and we need to talk, but you can’t ev—”

He stopped short. The pillowcase on the bed was half white, half scarlet, like freshly dried blood. Some of it splattered onto the bed sheets as well. There were reddened tissues on the floor gathered in a messy pile. Slowly Merlin extracted his hand from Arthur’s grasp.

“Merlin. Tell me that’s—,” his voice cracked. “What’s happening?”

Merlin started stripping the sheets off the bed. He tangled them up and left them in a pile by the closet door. He sat on the bed and waited. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to sit beside him. Suddenly, he was terrified.

“Merlin.”

“How are you back?” Merlin asked, looking up from his hands with huge blue eyes. “I started to think—well, the dragon lied to me before.”

“I just came out of the lake. That’s all,” Arthur insisted. “Nothing else happened.” 

“I thought….”

“You didn’t think I was really here?” Arthur said. Merlin nodded, looking down again.

“I’ve thought you were back before,” Merlin said quietly, “but my magic was just trying to help me, make me feel better. It didn’t work out.”

“Your magic made you think that?”

“It’s been a long time, Arthur,” he said with a deep, full sigh. “There’s only so much I can take. I’m just me.”

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Arthur said with as much sincerity he can muster.

“I’m the only person you know,” Merlin corrected with a tiny smile.

“Fair enough.”

“It’s been about 1500 years you know.”

Arthur reeled at that information. It gave Merlin a moment to try and make for the pile of tissues and kick them under the bed. Arthur grabbed his arm and forced him back upright. For a second, he saw a glimmer of the lively, challenging Merlin who used to taunt him in the mornings and laugh off every hard object Arthur threw at him. But it was just a glimmer.

“You’re sick,” Arthur said. He cursed his shaking voice.

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“You guess? Didn’t Gaius teach you anything? You shouldn’t be losing that much blood!”

Merlin scowled.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said. “I just don’t know _why_ I’m sick. I’ve been alive all this time… and now I’m dying? Now I’m in pain? It doesn’t make sense."

“Did something happen?”

“No,” he said. “It’s been quiet enough, since the World Wars. Except… magic.”

“What about it?”

“It’s leaving the land, but it doesn’t want to,” Merlin said, brow furrowed. “I can’t figure out why, but it’s been happening so fast for the last year or so.”

“And you’ve been sick....”

“For just about as long, yeah,” Merlin said. He rolled his shoulder and hunched in on himself. “It’s about time.”

“You want to die?” Arthur asked, shocked to the point of feeling nauseous.

“No, now that you’re here,” Merlin replied. “I wouldn’t mind living forever if it meant you were back for good.”

Arthur closed his eyes. The pain in Merlin’s voice was too much. Merlin started to pull away, but Arthur pulled him back, arm around his shoulder, and let him rest against him. Merlin exhaled a shuddering breath.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” Merlin murmured.

“Because of me?”

“The pain was bad yesterday. Worse than usual. Didn’t go away overnight.”

“Haven’t you gone to see a physician?”

“I’ve tried. Magical illnesses aren’t exactly treatable.”

“Gaius—”

“He’s gone, Arthur. Magic’s pretty much gone, too, except for me and the earth,” Merlin said sharply. “We can’t be fixed. Something messed us up.”

Arthur fell quiet. Merlin’s body stiffened and he drew away. Arthur didn’t have the heart to force him, not matter how much he thought Merlin was making a mistake.

“You should get some rest,” Arthur said. “You’re sick. Sleeping will help.”

Merlin offered him a sad smile.

“You’re so learned in the medical arts, Arthur. Thanks for the advice.”

“Shut up and lie down, Merlin,” he said, rolling his eyes. He shoved Merlin’s shoulder and he went down easily, his hair shockingly black against the bare white pillow. His eyes fluttered shut a few times before settling right back on Arthur. His heart stuttered.

“Will you stay with me?”

Arthur didn’t need to be asked twice. He rearranged their limbs and lied down beside Merlin, touching from shoulder to hip. He folded his hands on his stomach and turned his head toward Merlin. He was staring up at the ceiling.

“Sleep, you giant girl.”

“Haven’t you come up with better insults? You’ve had 1500 years to think of more.”

“Hmm, it didn’t really work like that,” Arthur said. “Cabbagehead will have to do.”

“That’s my word,” Merlin grumbled. Arthur smiled, and smiled even more widely when Merlin turned to him. “What was it like?”

“Quiet. Pretty boring, really. It wasn’t anything interesting.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t know what happened until I was coming up for air yesterday,” he admitted. “I remembered you, though, at the end, holding me on that field.”

Merlin closed his eyes.

“That’s all?”

“Just you. I had to see your ugly face for all this time.”

Merlin grinned, clearly unable to stop himself. He moved closed into Arthur’s space and settled there. It shouldn’t have been any different from sleeping together while on hunts in the winter, but it was. Everything about this was different. Arthur shut his eyes and turned toward Merlin, his hair tickling his nose. The spaces between them were warm and drew them closer together until there wasn’t any space at all, and it was still different from anything they’d done before. Somehow, knowing this made Arthur cling to Merlin’s thin waist even more tightly.

They slept for a long time.

Arthur woke to find Merlin staggering out of bed, hand over his mouth, and throwing the door open. He disappeared in the bathroom. Arthur sat up and waited, listened. He heard coughing, the sound of the tap running, then a soft moan. He sprang from bed and went right up to the door, only to stop short with his fist raised to knock.

 _Damn it all_.

Arthur threw the door open.

“Merlin—”

“Arthur,” he gasped, standing upright. He looked paler than ever and swayed on his feet. Arthur caught him by the shoulders and set him on the toilet seat. Merlin’s fingers were stained red, as were the white tiles around the water basin.

“God, Merlin,” he breathed.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine, Arthur. Let go,” Merlin murmured, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re not even fighting this!”

“I’m tired,” Merlin said. “Can’t you see? ‘Sides, I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“Use your magic,” Arthur ordered.

“It won’t do anything for me,” Merlin said. His hands started to tremble. “ _It’s_ what’s sick and dying.”

“Then why—?”

“It’s all I am,” Merlin said simply.

“It’s not—it’s not gone, is it?” Arthur asked.

“No,” he shook his head. Merlin looked up at the sink. His eyes turned gold – something Arthur knew he’d never get used to; he was just as torn between awe and fear as he was the day he died – and all the blood disappeared. His fingers were pristine, too.

“Someday, you’ll have to tell me everything,” Arthur said softly.

“I want to,” Merlin said, meeting his eye. Arthur smiled. Arthur prided himself in the little color that returned to Merlin’s face.

“Better.”

Merlin closed his eyes, and his smile turned into a grimace.

“What?”

“It hurts.”

“Haven’t you got… anything? To help with the pain?”

He made a face. “Yes, but if I start using it, it won’t be good,” he replied. “It’s… a bit addicting, when being without it hurts so much.”

“That’s a strange herb, then.”

“Very,” Merlin snorted.

They went back to bed instead. He looked more at peace there.

“You’re different,” Merlin said. “You’re not as much of a prat.”

“Was I really that bad at the end?”

“No,” Merlin admitted, “but I try not to remember that part as often.”

Arthur asked about Guinevere and Camelot next, silently surprised that he hadn’t thought of asking sooner, and watched Merlin’s face shut down. He had never returned. He’d watched Camelot prosper magnificently and eventually fall to foreigners. The Pendragon line ended with Guinevere, who married Leon some time after Arthur’s death and left no heirs.

He felt sad, but it wasn’t unexpected, in the end.

“And then?”

“What?”

“What about you?”

“Me? I stayed with my mother a while, traveled here and there. Took up a bit of Gwaine’s old lifestyle,” Merlin said. “I couldn’t do it for long. I ended up right back here every time I left, so eventually, I stayed put.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re here, and I’m… fading.”

“Magic is fading,” Arthur said. “What’s making it fade?”

Merlin shrugged.

“It’s exhausting to use it sometimes, but when I do, it’s not like it’s weak,” Merlin explained. “It’s just getting further out of reach, for some reason.”

“Can you show me?”

“What do you mean?”

“ _Magic_ , Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbow and turned his body on his side to face Merlin. “Show me.”

“You’re—”

“I trust you.”

Merlin nodded once. He sat up and cupped Arthur’s face in his hands. The intimacy of the gesture, so starkly different from any other touch he’d received from Merlin, sent a wave of warmth through his body. Arthur closed his eyes, and the warmth spread, grew stronger, took on a life of its own. He inhaled, and the air felt ten times sweeter and fresher, like they were in a meadow rather than Merlin’s rather vile little flat. He heard the rain hitting the window over their heads so much more clearly, and it sounded more and more like music.

Merlin removed his hands; when the magic started to draw back as well, Arthur make to stop it, to keep it where it was, because it felt good enough for him to nearly weep, but lightning cleaved his head and his vision went black. Arthur’s voice abandoned him. His mind’s eye came into focus.

He saw Excalibur and the Cup of Life sitting side by side on the little green isle in the middle of Avalon. They shone in the sunlight, but the brightness faded. The greenery died fast and left behind cracked earth. Blood oozed out of the ground and the sword and the cup fell into the dark spaces.

Then, he watched an arm reach into the crevice and the arm turned into a sapling. The tree grew into a massive thing with sprawling roots and branches, leaves dancing in the sighing wind. Slowly, it revived the world around it.

Arthur gasped. Merlin’s hands were tight on his shoulders, shaking him insistently. He blinked until his eyes cleared and tears ran down his face.

“Damn it,” he muttered, wiping angrily at his cheeks. Merlin’s fingers caught a stray tear.

“Are you okay?”

“It was a vision,” Arthur said, shaking his head. He felt disconnected, still. “I think your magic triggered it.”

Merlin shifted instantly from worried, sickly Merlin to the strong, determined warrior he’d finally seen in those last two days of his life.

“Tell me.”

He did, and when he finished, Merlin sat back against the headboard with his eyes closed. For a while, Arthur considered shouting at him, in case he fell asleep, but he didn’t think it’d be wise. Somewhere under his eyelids, gold shone through. When he looked at Arthur again, Merlin was ablaze, looking as energetic and powerful as ever.

“I understand now,” he said, sounding both excited and grave. “I finally understand. Thank you, Arthur.”

“Well, you know, a King is privy to special infor—”

Merlin hit him with his pillow and left the room laughing, leaving Arthur to gawk at him. He staggered, though, once he entered the hall, and his shaking hand went to his head. Strong as he looked, Arthur couldn’t let himself forget how ill he was on the inside.

When Merlin next appeared in the bedroom to wake Arthur, the whole flat smelled like food. His stomach roared at the sensation. They ate in silence, devouring a proper meal. Arthur didn’t even have the heart to tease him about his cooking. The circles around Merlin’s eyes made him look a thousand years old, even if his body was young.

“Do you know what’ll happen when we get to the Isle?” Arthur asked.

“Not sure,” he replied, but everything about his body told Arthur that he was lying.

“Merlin.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just, promise me you’ll do as I say.”

“I’m the King, Merlin. I give the orders,” he said lightly.

“Not anymore,” Merlin sighed. He put his silverware down. “You’re Arthur, and I’m Merlin. We’re relics of an old age, but we’re just regular people in this world.”

“You could never be regular,” Arthur snorted. “You’re _you_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re different.”

“Is that supposed to make any sense?”

“You’re insufferable,” Arthur said with finality. “Now. Can we go to sleep?”

“You just woke up!”

“What else is there to do?”

“Television. Movies. Books. We could go for a walk, or maybe to the pub! That’s like the tavern,” Merlin said. “You might like it.”

“I’m a bit tired, truth be told,” Arthur admitted. Merlin’s face should have fallen into disappointment, but he blanched and turned into a board. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “You’re right. Let’s get in bed.”

Merlin gave him proper sleeping clothes – flannel pants and a thin white shirt, the latter of which Arthur promptly abandoned, much to Merlin’s disapproval.

“It’s cold!” he sputtered.

“You’re warm enough,” Arthur said with a big grin, hugging Merlin tightly to his chest. He squawked and batted his arms away, but there wasn’t any real protest in his actions. Merlin settled in Arthur’s arms.

“This is different,” he remarked.

“I suppose it is.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Who? Guinevere?”

Merlin nodded.

“It’s terrible,” he admitted, “but I don’t. I think I mourned her loss while I was gone, maybe even before I died.”

“Oh. Then… why are you hugging me?”

“Because I want to? What’s the matter with that?”

“You don’t hug. You hit me,” Merlin frowned.

“I didn’t do that at the end. You held me there, and you made it ten times easier.”

“What?”

“Dying.”

“So what’s this? Are you repaying the favor, now that it’s my turn?”

“You’re not dying, Merlin. We’re going to fix you tomorrow when we get to the Isle,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

“Quit dodging my questions,” Merlin said, poking a finger between Arthur’s ribs. He came dangerously close to the scar from Mordred’s blade. Merlin hesitated before touching the intricately knitted wound. His touch sent shivers right to Arthur’s core.

“Merlin.” He sounded broken already.

“Hmm?”

“I think… I want you to stop that,” he said, slapping his hand away from the scar.

“Sorry,” Merlin said so softly Arthur wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t felt his breath on his chest.

“No. I meant I’m not going anywhere, and you aren’t either,” Arthur said. He gripped Merlin by the chin and forced him to look him in the eye. “You understand? We were always going to do this together, whatever _this_ is. Isn’t that what you said? About destiny?”

“Yeah….”

“So forget about Camlann and what happened. Let it go.”

“But –”

“ _No_ , Merlin. Forget it. At least for tonight. Do this for me.”

Merlin stuck his tongue out at Arthur and tried to crawl away from him, but Arthur wouldn’t have it.

“Oi! I need to pee!”

“Sorry. Can’t let my personal blanket go. I could get very sick if it got too cold in here.”

Merlin’s eyes glowed gold and extraordinary warmth settled over Arthur’s entire body. He gasped in pleasure and closed his eyes. He started to doze, only waking when he heard the toilet flush and felt the bed dip under Merlin’s weight. Arthur hooked an arm around him.

“Hey! I made you warm.”

“Merlin,” he said exasperatedly. “Are you really that thick?”

“No!”

“I missed you. I want you literally at my side right now. Can’t you see that?”

Merlin opened and shut his mouth several times. Then, he turned scarlet and buried his face in Arthur’s chest. Arthur laughed, and then he couldn’t stop laughing as Merlin made his magic trail over his skin and tickle him in every single one of his most ticklish spots.

“God! Merlin, stop! Stop, stop – I yield!”

They were chest to chest, both out of breath, when Merlin reigned in his magic and grinned smugly at him.

“Perfect,” Merlin said. He reached out and brushed Arthur’s hair off his forehead.

“What—?”

He never finished his question. Merlin cupped his face and kissed him. He tasted like mint, but mostly like Merlin, and Arthur was very quickly drunk on his presence. He loosened and finally – _finally_ – gave in to the niggling incoherent thought in the back of his mind that had suddenly taken a very clear form.

They moved quickly, making up for an inordinate amount of lost time, their teeth clashing and biting raw lips. The rest of their clothes promptly disappeared; Arthur had no worries at all about staying warm anymore. They ground against each other, their bodies slick with sweat and all the ancient want oozing out of their pores. The sounds coming out of Merlin were obscene and beautiful, so unlike anything he’d ever heard come from that goddamned mouth that never once shut up in their ten short years in Camelot. This – this was different, and Arthur was unbearably glad for it.

Arthur came all too quickly, his fingers digging into Merlin’s shoulders and hip, bucking into Merlin’s fist. Merlin quickly followed him, breathing his name into Arthur’s mouth. He fell limp and littered Arthur’s neck with lazy, gentle kisses.

He left his mark there on Arthur’s chest, sucking a large, dark bruise just below Mordred’s scar.

“I’ve claimed you, too,” he murmured. “Finally.”

“I’m pleased.”

“Just pleased?”

“I’d be more pleased if we did this again in the morning,” Arthur said, kissing the end of Merlin’s nose when he finally met him at eye level, “and every day after that for a very long time.”

“My, you’re demanding.”

“That’s not news to you.”

“Prat,” Merlin beamed.

“Idiot.”

They wrapped themselves up in the sheets. Just as Merlin’s breathing started to even out, Arthur blurted,

“I’m surprised we never did this before.”

Merlin looked up at him questioningly.

“Knights and squires, even members of the court – it wasn’t strange, for men to lie with men.”

“Half of Camelot thought we were sleeping together,” Merlin mused.

“Still surprising, then.” 

“Well, I had this destiny taking up all my time when I wasn’t darning your socks,” Merlin said. He lightly hit the top of Merlin’s head, eliciting a face-splitting smile from him. “I was busy, and you had Gwen.”

“What about that girl, _Mer_ lin? When you left for three days to visit her? You weren’t too busy then,” Arthur teased. Merlin stiffened.

“Gwen was enchanted then, Arthur. It wasn’t true,” he said. “Morgana had poisoned me and left me for dead in the forest.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“’S fine. Besides, you did have Gwen, and you both loved each other very much, and I was, well, married to my work, as people say nowadays,” Merlin said sheepishly, “that being keeping you alive.”

Arthur didn’t respond to him for a while.

“I’m glad you’re here, Merlin. As much as I adored Gwen, I’m glad you’re the one with me now,” Arthur finally said.

Arthur was nearly asleep, but he caught Merlin murmur, “At least I don’t have to wonder anymore. I can die happy.”

The morning light was harsh and full in the room. They drank a strange drink called coffee, which made Arthur’s whole body feel like fire and the raging waters of the sea all at once – “It’s not sorcery, Arthur, I promise; it might just be better.” – and then set off for Avalon.

The walk is quiet, mostly because Arthur is too jittery to properly articulate anything.

“Are you sure you weren’t drinking this in Camelot? It would explain the very odd things that came out of your mouth,” Arthur said, interrupting the quiet. Merlin looked up from the ground, smiling fondly.

“Nah. It’s still just part of my charm.”

Arthur threw his arm around Merlin’s shoulder and kept him close, asking whatever questions came to mind about the modern world as they walked.

“I need to prepare for whatever it is Albion needs, if it’s more than fixing the magic.”

Merlin laughed. “Let’s hope it’s nothing more than this. It’s bad enough.”

“Do you doubt my abilities, Merlin?”

“Never,” he said, affronted. Arthur shoved him forward playfully and let him walk ahead down the grassy slope. At the shore, the boat was waiting, but Merlin’s eyes were fixed on something else.

There, on the beach, was the Cup of Life, pristine and gleaming in the sunlight, as though it had not weathered a day since they’d last seen it. Merlin picked it up and frowned.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

“It’s… wrong. All wrong. Even its magic is suffering,” Merlin whispered. “Come on. We can fix this.”

“You know how?”

“I do. I really do,” Merlin said feverishly. He dragged Arthur to the tiny boat and his magic propelled them across the lake. The early morning cold bit their cheeks, making Merlin’s face beautifully rosy. Arthur reached and ran his thumb across Merlin’s sharp cheekbone. Too quickly Merlin turned away from him.

Arthur attributed it to nerves, so he didn’t ask.

They hit the shore. Arthur stood and made for land when Merlin grabbed his wrist and gently pulled him back down.

“I’ll tell you what needs to happen,” he said, his eyes dark and solemn. “You need to let me go. The Isle let us come here because of my magic; it’s me it wants. Once I’m on the Isle, I’m going to help the earth show what’s really wrong with it, and when it’s safe, come to me with the Cup of Life with water from the lake in it.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Doesn’t matter. Trust me, okay?”

“I do.”

“Thank you, Arthur.”

The look on Merlin’s face, though, wasn’t grateful; it was apologetic.

Merlin stepped from the boat to land. The ground shook, water sloshing into the boat; the sky turned black. The grass on the Isle shriveled up as though burned. The tower in the distance quivered and crumbled. Out there, in the rubble, Arthur saw a glint of gold. But he paid it little attention.

Merlin was there on the shore, blood running from his ears and nose, his lips just as red. His eyes were black as night and unfocused, fixed on some point above their heads. His lips formed soundless words over and over until he cried out and fell to his knees. The ground cracked on impact.

It was just like the vision.

Arthur grabbed the cup and scrambled out of the boat. He filled it up as a second thought and ran to Merlin.

“Merlin, stop,” he said. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s not—,” he gasped. “Ah! It’s not me. It’s the earth. This is what she feels like.”

Merlin closed his eyes, feeling for Arthur’s face. He caressed him, much like Gwen used to during quiet, private moments in between busy days. Tears leaked out of Merlin’s eyes and shattered Arthur’s heart all over again.

“Help me.”

He held out his hand. Arthur placed the cup in his open palm and curled Merlin’s fingers around it. He steadied him and let Merlin’s magic do the rest. The water within shimmered. Then, Merlin dumped it in the nearest fissure, the ground there already red with his blood.

It’s that simple.

Green spreads. Life returns to the Isle, and Merlin’s body with it. He smiles as they watch darkness leave the sky and the world return to the way it needed to be. Peace settles around them, and the air shimmers like the waters of the lake. Merlin lets out an unexpectedly happy laugh. He throws himself at Arthur and nearly pins him to the ground.

“Go. The sword is close.”

“Do I really need it now?” Arthur asks, surprised. Merlin looks a little confused.

“I can’t say I know why you would, but it’s yours and yours alone,” Merlin says firmly. “Go.”

Arthur goes. He leaves Merlin knee-deep in mud by the lone red fissure on the shore and hikes up to where the tower stands. The sword is in the grass, beautiful and deadly as ever. Arthur takes it up.

 _Do not deny him what he requires now,_ a terrible voice says.

Arthur blinks. He looks back at the shore and doesn’t see Merlin sitting there any longer.

“No,” he breathes. Arthur sprints back and skids to a stop where Merlin lies on the ground bleeding profusely from his ears and nose again.

“Arthur,” he says, a smile gracing his porcelain face. He coughs and spits out a mouthful of blood. The fissure beside him widens.

“Merlin – no. You can’t do this,” Arthur says, falling to his knees, Excalibur forgotten.

“We were too late,” he says. “I’m sleepy.”

“Don’t you dare,” he growls. “I – I’ll get you all the coffee in the world.”

Merlin tries to laugh.

“The Cup!” Arthur exclaims. He runs to the lake and fills it up. Merlin takes the water meekly, but he looks up at Arthur with pity. “Goddamn it! Why isn’t it working?”

“The earth is healed. My magic is okay, but... something else,” he pauses to catch his breath. “I don’t know. My body and my magic disconnected. Maybe time caught up with me.”

Merlin looks away.

“You knew,” Arthur realizes.

“I knew it might happen,” Merlin corrects. “I dreamt this before, over and over. You came back, and we did this, and sometimes I died, sometimes I didn’t.”

“I guess your magic wasn’t tricking you after all,” Arthur says.

“No. It was warning me.”

Arthur’s throat constricts. He hauls Merlin into his arms and frames his face in his hands. Merlin’s eyes start to flutter shut.

“Merlin!”

He opens them wide.

“Can you do me a favor?” Merlin asks.

“No.”

“Please, Arthur. It’s too much,” he says, starting to sob. He only manages a few terrible sounds before he falls forward.

“No! Merlin – Merlin, no. Stay with me.”

He moves his head ever so slightly.

“Please, Arthur. Trust me.”

That changes everything. He doesn’t understand why it does, but it _makes sense_.

Arthur takes Excalibur. His arm shakes. He positions the blade carefully; the last thing he wants to do is cause Merlin more pain than what he wants to escape. Before the desperate act of logical thought can catch up to him, Arthur thrusts the blade through Merlin’s chest. He shudders and falls into the crook of his neck, his lips just above a lovebite he’d left there the night before.

He doesn’t move, until Arthur really _sees_ the blade. Then he withdraws it from Merlin’s body and hurls it into the lake.

He screams and pounds the ground. Arthur feels more alive than he has since coming out of the lake, but it doesn’t matter, not if Merlin isn’t there to be alive with him. They’re meant to be together, like two sides –

Arthur spins around. The ground is swallowing Merlin up.

“No!”

He cries himself hoarse as he tries to claw through the dirt, but he only ends up making a bloody mess of his hands. Arthur wonders why reality he got was worse than any vision he could have ever conceived. The possibility of his own death never left him while he was Prince or King of Camelot, but the idea that Merlin could die or be hurt so terribly was unimaginable.

Arthur screams until he’s too tired to stay upright. The ground is soft and thrumming with life, but Arthur hates it with all his might, for what it cost. Somehow, though, he falls asleep.

When he next wakes, the dawn is just illuminating lake’s surface. For a merciful moment, Arthur doesn’t remember what had happened. Then he realizes he is alone, and it’s impossible to forget and let go. Arthur stands up.

Only then he notices the massive tree that grew from the fissure overnight. It’s just like in the vision. Arthur touches the bark; it is like velvet, yet strong as any shield or barrel – like calloused skin. One face of the tree is terribly knotted compared to the rest, the twists and grooves careful and intricate, just like Mordred’s scar.

The tree shudders under his hand when he touches the center of the knot. Then, the knot starts to expand. Arthur steps back and watches the tree twist and grow until it splits clear down the middle and blooms into two convoluted folds, one hanging in the water and the other reaching for the tower. The knot opens, just as the dawn properly breaks and the brightest sun Arthur had ever seen hits his eyes.

The brightness fades as a familiar body hits his own, arms tight around his neck, breath warm on his skin.

“You stayed.”

“Just returning the favor.”

“Just that?”

“Merlin.” 

Merlin sighs contentedly. “Shut up?”

“You guessed it.”

Arthur clings to him, so the dawn might never take him away again. 


End file.
